


Broken and Connected

by ggbayley



Series: Warmth on the Wall [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ADWD spoilers, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggbayley/pseuds/ggbayley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summery: When Theon arrives on the wall, broken and damaged from the Dreadfort, Jon can’t help but look for the man he used to know</p><p>~</p><p>Jon slipped under the covers beside him, his arms sliding around his waist to pull Greyjoy’s withered frame again him.</p><p>Theon jerked at the touch, his body stiff. “If you pity me,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke, “the dagger would be kinder.”</p><p>~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken and Connected

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Takes place after ADWD, but in a slightly altered timeline where Janos Slynt became Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch

“Here he is, Lord Janos.” The watchman sneered as he threw the miserable figure down on his knees before the Lord Commander. “Pick of the litter.”

“Well well, the turncloak.” Lord Janos swirled his wine as he appraised the gaunt, half-starved figure before him. “You don’t look of much use to anyone, but I suppose with our losses, we’ll have to take you. So kind of Stannis to spare you.”

He snorted, waving his hand dismissively. “Put him in Lord Snow’s chambers. I’m sure he could use some company.” 

The watchman dragged the frail man out again roughly.

~

Jon looked up when the door burst open, rising to his feet. Janos’ men shoved a bundle of ragged leathers and torn wool into the room, casting it harshly to the floor.

“Some company, from his Lordship,” the guard sneered. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy him, Lord Snow.” The door shut with a bang.

Jon bent to help the crumpled figure up, surprised when the man tensed at his touch. Jon looked into his face, his eyes penetrating the ratty tangles of hair. “Theon?” he gasped in disbelief.

The Iron Islander wouldn’t meet his eyes, crouching frozen in place.

Jon sat back on his heels, stunned by how much Theon had changed in the years since they had seen each other. They had all grown older and harder, but Theon’s change was so much more drastic, he could scarcely believe it was the same man.

“What happened to you?” Jon breathed.

A derisive snort was the first sound the miserable figure had made. Greyjoy’s eyes rose to meet his, pale and haunted. He said nothing, breaking Jon’s gaze after only a moment, as if it pained him. Slowly he crawled to a corner, curling up awkwardly on the hard stone floor.

Jon’s gaze followed, his mouth set in a tight line. It was still for one long, awkward moment, then Jon strode to the corner, grasping thin arms and pulling Greyjoy to his feet. Theon visibly trembled, his eyes flicking to the dagger at Jon’s hip. Drawing an arm around him, Jon led him to the bed, unclipping his cloak and pulling off his worn boots before settling him on the furs. Theon was stiff throughout, and he turned away as soon as Jon’s hands left him, facing the wall.

Jon sat beside him, gazing down at his old companion’s wasted face, his brittle hair, his broken features.

“You shouldn’t be kind to me.”

The whispered voice was like a stranger. Theon didn’t turn as he spoke, his haunted eyes fixed on a point on the wall, staring vacantly into space. “Put your dagger to my throat. Lord Janos wouldn’t mind.”

Jon’s frown deepened. He reached out to stroke that brittle, faded hair, and Theon’s breath hitched, his throat visibly twitching. “I loved you,” Jon whispered, surprised even at himself by the emotions which were tearing through him.

“And I betrayed you. All the more reason to slit my throat,” Theon whispered.

Jon withdrew his hand, staring down at the blankets as he asked the question which had haunted him. “Did you kill my brothers, Theon?”

Theon snorted, turning to him with burning eyes. “Is that the only reason I deserve to die?” he challenged. His hand lashed out, snatching Jon’s dagger from its sheath. He pressed the cold steel to his own throat, his eyes boring into Jon, begging. “I murdered two little boys. Slit their throats in cold blood and had their flayed heads mounted on spikes.” His hand trembled on the dagger’s hilt. “Please Jon,” he croaked. “Please, do it.”

Jon stared at him sadly for a moment, then he reached out and took the dagger from Theon’s weak fingers, sliding it back into its sheath. “So you did. Bran and Rickon…I thought, once, maybe I saw Summer…”

Theon’s eyes clenched shut, his fist pounding the bed. “Damn you, Snow!” He took a ragged breath. “They escaped,” he confessed with bitterness. “They could be alive, or dead. I never found them. But I would have killed them.”

Jon’s eyes had brightened. “They’re alive?”

“Two children alone? Unlikely.” Theon’s eyes slid open again, staring deep into Jon. “Take your dagger, Snow. Take me outside, if you will. Give me to your wolf, if he can bear the taste.”

“Stop it. I’m not going to kill you.”

Theon looked deeply disappointed. He sighed, taking a breath and opening his mouth to give it one more try. “I fucked Robb, you know.” Jon stiffened at that. “You hadn’t been gone a fortnight before I slipped into his bed,” Theon needled. “I did everything to him. Just like I did to you.” When that got no response besides Jon’s stony silence, Theon groaned, turning away from Jon to stare at the wall once more. “Fuck, what would it take to make you kill me?”

It was silent for a moment, no sound in the chamber beside Theon’s labored breath. Then, Jon slipped under the covers beside him, his arms sliding around his waist to pull Greyjoy’s withered frame again him.

Theon jerked at the touch, his body stiff. “If you pity me,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke, “the dagger would be kinder.”

Jon said nothing, holding Theon tight against him. As much as he should hate this man, he couldn’t stand to see the raw pain which spilled from Theon’s eyes. So he gave in, and held him.

~  
 _Winterfell_

“Up already?”

Theon’s eyes had laughed back then. The first light of dawn was only just breaking in the sky, when he had been awoken by Jon’s hand sliding beneath the covers. Jon had found what he wanted, and let his fingers play. 

Theon murmured his approval, his hands tracing along the bastard’s back. Then their mouths came together, and Theon’s warm body rolled on top of him.

~

Jon woke with a start. The memory had been so vivid in his dream, he felt he could almost taste those sweet boyhood kisses. He had dreamt many times of the way they used to make love, but this was the first time since those distant days at Winterfell when he had awoken with Theon in his arms. Jon sighed, pulling him closer.

“Stop it.”

“Mmm?” Jon yawned, opening his eyes. That tortured gaze brought him back to the present.

“I’m not him,” Theon hissed. “He’s dead, Jon. Don’t fool yourself.”

Jon stared at him. Theon was so haggard, and yet…he was still there. He leaned in, claiming Theon’s lips. The kiss was allowed, but not returned. Jon let his fingers explore, hands trailing down Theon’s tunic. He knew the touch was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help himself. So many nights, he had burned to feel this again.

“Stop it,” Then pleaded, but raised no hand to stop him. Jon couldn’t stop. His lips found Theon’s neck, caressing the frail skin. A hand slid under Theon’s tunic, moving up his chest. Theon went rigid, his jaw locked in tension.

Jon could feel the scars. Cuts and burns, badly healed and rough. Old scars, but every touch made Theon whimper, his body trembling. “Please. Stop,” he begged, even his voice quavering.

Jon rose up on one elbow, his hand stilling on Theon’s chest. “Does it hurt?” he whispered sincerely.

Theon turned his head away. “So you prefer this to the dagger,” he choked, his voice bitter. “Do what you want, Snow. I deserve it.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Theon made no response. Jon paused a moment, then reached to unlace Theon’s tunic. By the time he pulled it off over Theon’s pale hair, the other man was shaking violently. Jon swiftly removed his own tunic, enclosing Theon in his arms and holding him tight. Theon continued to tremble, then his shivers turned to sobs. He cried helplessly, Jon holding him close as his former lover wept into his shoulder. The strength went out of Theon’s body, and slowly, his arms found their way around Jon, the touch light but full of desperation.

Jon held him until he settled, pressing a kiss to his temple. Theon calmed, though his body still shook just slightly.

“Don’t, Jon.” His voice was hoarse, still lost and sad. “You’re pretending again.”

Jon’s fingers stroked his hair softly. “The world is cruel. I don’t think I can be.” He couldn’t help the heat he felt. Despite the wasted state of Theon’s body, despite the scars, there was still something there that was drawing him in, making him yearn. Maybe it was the memories, and maybe a desire to overcome the sadness which poured from his old lover’s eyes.

He couldn’t help himself; he had never been able to, with Theon. Again his lips found Theon’s, this time with less resistance from the other man. Theon allowed him, though his lips pressed tightly closed as Jon’s tongue probed for access, guarding his broken teeth.

Jon let him win that one, moving to kiss down Theon’s chest, fingers and lips caressing the delicate skin, going softly over the painfully visible ribs. Theon had gone limp, showing little reaction to Jon’s ministrations, besides an occasional whimper when Jon touched one of his scars. But when Jon’s fingers found the laces of his breaches, he went stiff as a board, eyes pressed tightly shut. He was so tense he seemed to barely be breathing.

Jon glanced up at him, but was too far to stop. His fingers swiftly undid the laces, then slid down over Theon’s stomach, beneath the loosened fabric. Then he stopped cold, his fingers jerking back involuntarily. He stared up at Theon, frozen, his mouth agape.

Theon’s face was tight with tension, his eyes so securely closed it looked painful. He said nothing, so still he hardly seemed alive.

Jon pulled the furs up to cover them, still shaken as he laid his arm back across Theon’s chest. He was so stunned, words were eluding him.

It was so quiet, so uncomfortable. After a long time, Theon turned away from him, curling into himself.

Jon stared at him, and the words came to his lips unbidden. “I still love you.”

“Fuck you.” Theon’s words were harsh and bitter.

Jon swallowed, the words stinging more than he would have liked. “Did you really bed Robb?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

Jon felt a twinge in his heart. He swallowed hard, staring at Theon’s back. “Did you think of me?” he questioned.

“That’s sick.” A crazy laugh rose from Greyjoy’s lips. “Yes, I did.”

Jon’s hand grasped Theon’s shoulder, forcefully turning the other man towards him. He seized Theon’s lips, and this time Theon gave in, his arms wrapping around Jon’s neck to pull him closer. Jon was spinning. He had no idea what he was doing, but whatever it was, he wanted it desperately.

Before he knew it, their breaches were down, and he was on top of Theon. Theon was trembling again, but Jon couldn’t stop. He was gentle, but a slave to passion, his lips and body claiming everything they could. It felt odd, with what was missing, but he craved it regardless.

When it was done, he pulled Theon’s shivering form again him, feeling ashamed of the satisfaction he felt. “Did I hurt you?” he whispered softly.

“No,” Theon returned. He squeezed Jon’s back, his touch feeling warmer than it had since his arrival. “I’m sorry, Jon. I truly am.”

“I believe you.” Jon held on tight, letting himself enjoy that one moment, without thinking about the consequences.


End file.
